


Honeythief (And when I'm lost you search for me)

by Caivallon



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, probably more comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23070478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caivallon/pseuds/Caivallon
Summary: Mitch’s bedroom door is closed, which is probably the explanation for why Zeus didn’t come to the door to greet him.He hesitates for two seconds, needing to pull himself together because he knows what he will find. Because it’s too much, because everything inside him is cold and sick. Then he opens the door slowly.
Relationships: Mitch Marner/Auston Matthews
Comments: 18
Kudos: 146





	Honeythief (And when I'm lost you search for me)

**Author's Note:**

> This is me dealing with all the trash-talking about Mitch I encountered in the last two weeks… because he doesn’t deserve this ~~and because most of those so-called fans don’t deserve him~~. It’s purely self-indulgent and probably teeth-rottingly sweet. 
> 
> I just want to cuddle him, but even more, I want Auston to cuddle him. ^.^
> 
> [ **Alyssa** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardiac_arrest/pseuds/cardiac_arrest) beta-read the hell out of this and I’m so happy and grateful to have her ♥ 
> 
> Title is stolen from the amazing and surprisingly perfect song [ **”Honeythief”** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yN9yN8-_fVU) by Halou. 
> 
> I hope you like my little story. (In my head it's part of a verse that I call "Playing house", just like my last stories about them, but it works totally on its own.)
> 
> [](https://imgur.com/PyixGHs)  
> 
> 
>   
> 

**And when I’m lost, you search for me**

The apartment is completely dark when Auston closes the door behind him quietly. Only the faint light from the surrounding buildings illuminates the living space with the open kitchen, casting long shadows on the hardwood floor and the fluffy carpet of the seating area. 

It looks empty. 

It’s not late, or not so late that it’s unlikely Mitch went out… if it wasn’t for the fact that there is no safe place for Mitch to go in Toronto right now. Nowhere but Auston’s place, or another teammate’s. Nowhere but Mitch’s home in Markham. 

And for some reason, Auston doesn’t think he would go there—not now. Not after last night’s game. 

It only makes him more worried, to the point where he’s almost irritated again when he imagines the words Mitch's father would have for him. He clenches his fist around the keys he's still holding, not caring that the sharp edges dig painfully into the skin of his palm. 

He hasn’t sent a text in advance, even though he usually does. But usually, they’re texting almost constantly throughout the day if they don’t see each other in person. 

Today is different. Today, Mitch hasn't replied to even one of the dozen messages he left him. Today, he has gotten more and more worried with every hour that passed without hearing from Mitch, until he couldn't take it anymore. 

Auston slips out of his sneakers and throws his coat over one of the stools at the breakfast counter. Just like the rest of the apartment, the kitchen is impeccable: no used dishes or glasses, no empty Gatorade bottles. Nothing. 

His stomach almost spins when he puts the pictures together. He can hear his heart rate picking up, suddenly and so intense that he feels dizzy with concern, with pain. He stops breathing. Throws the plastic bag he's been carrying onto the island next to the stove and almost runs down the hallway.

Mitch’s bedroom door is closed, which is probably the explanation for why Zeus didn’t come to the door to greet him. 

He hesitates for two seconds, needing to pull himself together because he knows what he will find. Because it’s too much, because everything inside him is cold and sick. Then he opens the door slowly. 

The room is just as dark as the rest of the condo, only illuminated by the soft orange light from the city outside. 

But it’s enough for him to take in the scene. 

Mitch. 

Hiding in his bed, layers and layers of comforters and blankets draped over him; only the top of his head visible. Zeus is next to him, head cocked towards the door expectantly. 

It’s bad. 

Auston has assumed it before, but actually seeing it… is worse. 

The smell inside the room is stale and sharp of sadness and self-deprecation. Mitch’s own scent—usually so calming and sweet to him—is mingled with sweat and something else that he knows but can’t classify. 

Zeus doesn’t leave his place at Mitch’s side, doesn’t wag his tail in excitement to see Auston. And when he steps closer to the bed Zeus even starts to growl protectively, ready to defend Mitch, so that Auston has to tentatively offer his hand first, hoping the puppy would calm down when he recognizes his scent. 

Finally, Zeus whines miserably and presses his nose into Auston’s palm; it’s warm and dry, almost feverish. 

Mitch doesn’t lift his head, not when he whispers his name softly… not even when he climbs onto the bed and on his other side. Auston wants to pull the blankets away, wants to slide underneath them and put his arms around Mitch; curl around him, protect him. 

But that is what _he_ wants. Needs. Not necessarily what Mitch wants. _Needs_. A little voice inside his mind tells him that. 

A voice Auston never really listened to. 

(He wouldn't play hockey if he did. Wouldn't be in Toronto. Wouldn't have the spare key to Mitch's apartment. A place inside Mitch's heart.)

And so he slips underneath the blankets and fits himself along Mitch's body: small and too skinny and still perfect. (Because it's Mitch.) 

"Mitch… Mouse…?" 

There is no reaction and for a moment Auston is scared—so much more scared. That this was a mistake. That Mitch isn't sleeping. That something is seriously _wrong_. ~~That he's too late and that he is the wrong person~~. 

But then he can finally feel Mitch stirring. 

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t turn around in Auston’s embrace. He only twists slightly and grabs Auston’s hand that is draped around his waist, winds it around him more as if Auston is just another blanket he wants to hide under. 

And Auston is… fine with that. Would have been if he wasn’t still waiting for more… if he wasn’t still worried sick. 

“Mouse... what—what are you doing?” 

He leans in and burrows his face in Mitch’s nape, brushes his lips over the sweaty skin he finds there and inhales his scent that is somehow off: too sour, too sticky, too sick. But underneath is still Mitch's and when he finds it… the little waft of spring, of yellow fruits and September rain. _It’s heaven_. 

Auston has to repeat his question two more times until Mitch turns slightly, changes his position so that Auston can slide his leg over him and pull him closer. 

It’s better like this—he feels closer. 

Mitch is a sensual person; he touches and communicates his emotions through physical contact. 

It’s Mitch’s way of telling him what he feels and needs. 

Auston isn’t like that per se. Has tried to figure it out since he and Mitch got together at the beginning of this season. But he _needs_ to figure it out right now to get through the shell that Mitch has put up around him, so he _tries_. 

He climbs over Mitch fully until he’s on top of him; thighs bracketing Mitch's, arms on both sides of his torso, holding himself above him just so that he doesn’t crush him but close enough that Mitch can feel the strength in his body, the solidity and safety. That he can feel his warmth and his wish to protect him at all costs. 

Zeus whimpers next to them when Mitch’s attention is lured away from him but Auston doesn’t care… now that Mitch finally whispers his name, blinks up at him and looks at him for the first time. 

Even in the darkness, Auston can see that his lips are bitten bloody and the skin under his eyes dark—his lashes crusted from sleep and maybe tears. But the worst is Mitch’s expression: full of fear and insecurity. 

It’s _heartbreaking_. 

And Auston has to close his own eyes for a second—because the urge to crush something, punch someone, everyone who booed yesterday or who wrote a single mean thing about Mitch… ~~Crush himself for letting Mitch drive home alone, for not coming earlier and taking care of him~~. 

It’s suddenly so overwhelming that he thinks he can’t breathe anymore. 

“Aus…?” 

Mitch’s voice is so small, so timid, so unlike Mitch that Auston opens his eyes again, focusing on the one thing that matters right now. 

_Mitch_. Only Mitch. 

“Yes… yes. Hope you didn't expect someone else?” He laughs. It comes out a little hysterically, and he can feel his arms tremble, can hear Zeus lifting his head at the foreignness in his voice, see Mitch’s pupils widen in the dark. 

“What time’s it?”

“I dunno and I don’t care… Babe, what are you doing? All alone in the dark?” Auston puts his hands around Mitch’s face. It takes some effort while he’s still holding his weight over him, but it’s worth it when Mitch melts into his touch. When he turns his face so that his cheek fits perfectly into Auston’s palm and his lids flutter for a second when Auston’s thumb caresses the soft skin underneath his eyes. 

“I—I slept.” 

“I figured… you didn’t reply to any of my texts. I—you got me worried.” 

Before Mitch can say that he’s sorry Auston shakes his head, repeats the movement whenever Mitch wants to start again until he finally relents, but he doesn’t stop the caresses.

“So worried, _god_...” he repeats, not to make Mitch feel guilty—more guilty than he already feels. He repeats it because he doesn’t deserve this, because he can’t stop himself—like he can’t stop touching him with everything that he has, even if he wanted. 

“You got Zeus worried.” 

It’s meant as a joke, only, Mitch doesn’t smile.

Mitch swallows underneath him, eyes fluttering shut, body going stiff. 

(Auston would kill for a smile right now, no matter how weak it is. He hadn’t been aware of how much he had missed it for the last couple of weeks when it got smaller and smaller until it completely stopped, and became a forced thing that Mitch only put on for the team.)

Instead, he looks completely shattered, breathless and so broken that Auston almost crumbles on top of him. Shaken with regret because he put more responsibility on Mitch. He didn’t want that. Didn’t want that at all.

“Hey… Zeus is fine, I'm sure. Don’t—don’t worry about him, okay? Let me take care of you and then… Then we’ll take care of him together?”

It’s still an eternity until Mitch nods, and then another until Auston is able to unwrap himself from Mitch, to roll from him and pull him upright so that he can help him into the ensuite. He doesn’t dare let go of Mitch, not when he looks so exhausted and weak that Auston wouldn’t be surprised if he collapsed right in front of him. 

Even in the sweatpants and the thick hoodie, Mitch looks small, and Auston almost wishes that Mitch would let him carry him. 

But he never would. He can’t even hold Auston’s gaze, and tries to brush off his hands at first before he realizes that Auston won’t budge. 

Together they make their way into the bathroom, their footsteps light and heavy on the hardwood floor, their bodies melted into each other's; breath in sync. Zeus follows them, not willing to leave Mitch’s side, claws clicking softly on the tiles.

“Don’t…” Mitch stops him when Auston goes for the light switch and Auston doesn’t have the heart to deny this request before he helps Mitch to sit on the edge of the bathtub. 

But when he leans in to turn on the water, Mitch catches his wrist, firm and steady. 

" _No_. No bath.”

For the first time he smiles—grim and through his teeth, and Auston silently obeys, immediately starting to shed his clothes. 

“And you don’t have to help me, _I'm not fucking five anymore_.”

Auston continues without even stopping; he wouldn’t let Mitch crumble in the shower. He also wouldn't let Mitch steal Auston’s chance of being close to him—it has been weeks, ages since he has touched him. An eternity. 

(An evidence and forecast of this moment that Mitch hasn’t been alright. A hint Auston was too stupid to interpret.)

“Prove it to me… undress.”

It’s a dare. Because seeing Mitch’s stubbornness return is like feeling a stone being lifted from his heart. Not because he doesn’t want to take care of him, but because it’s just _wrong_. 

Mitch is sunshine and happiness and endless energy—he’s perfection to Auston’s imperfections. He’s the puzzle piece that makes him whole. The lightning to his thunder, the steel to his concrete. 

But by the time Auston is naked and has set out a couple of fluffy fresh towels on the washing stand Mitch is still sitting on the bathtub, still dressed, still lost in thought so that another part of Auston's heart breaks. 

Mitch's hair is slightly greasy, but it’s as soft and nice to run his fingers through as usual—although, tonight, he doesn't feel the shiver of desire or pleasure as usual when he does it. 

"You have until the water’s hot… If you're not naked by then I'll do it for you." 

He walks over to the shower and freezes when he steps into a puddle of something wet. 

"Fuck," he curses. Suddenly, he can place the sharp and sweet stench that has been lingering in the room. 

Zeus yips miserably and bumps his head against his knee, and Auston doesn't have to switch on the light to know what it is. Doesn't want to switch the light on to not make Mitch feel more ashamed. 

"It's okay, bud," he tells Zeus while he pats his head. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Zeus had a little accident. Nothing to worry about… I'll take care—" 

"You don't have to clean after _my_ dog." Mitch sounds pained, pissed almost. It sends a flash of relief through Auston; the resemblance of Mitch’s attitude, of his old self… of everything. Auston usually rolls his eyes, but the attitude is so so very welcome right now. And yet, it’s even better to see him sliding down onto his knees with his usual grace and pulling Zeus into his arms, whispering apologies into his soft brown ears. 

It’s cute. 

Of course, it is. It’s Mitch and Zeus and there has never been a day in Auston’s life where he didn’t think that Mitch is cute. 

He has to tear himself away to grab one of the towels and throw it over the puddle, hoping that he remembers to throw it into the washing machine later. “It’s just pee. I’m used to it from when Nala was a puppy, but I’ll definitely need a shower now.” 

Mitch’s little laugh—still strained and reluctant—is maybe the best sound Auston has ever heard. At least in the last 48 hours, but it pales against the image of Mitch standing up and starting to undress.

The ceiling-high windows of the bathroom give enough light so that Auston can watch Mitch. Watch him stepping out of the sweats, along with his boxers and take off the huge warm sweater, the shirt underneath. Watch him getting rid of his clothes until he’s completely naked. Until he finally steps over to him. 

“Let me take care of you… _please_.” 

Until he finally nods and falls into Auston’s arms. 

Hot and shivering, sweaty and sweet. 

Until he presses himself against Auston’s chest. 

Brittle and breakable, precarious and precious. 

They both gasp in surprise—with relief. Forehead against forehead, noses brushing each other. Lips whispering over cheekbones, softly touching, quietly seeking and finding.

Mitch trembles and Auston doesn't know if it's because he's cold or just overwhelmed. Maybe both. 

This time when Auston leads him into the shower he doesn't protest anymore, not even when Auston follows him. Instead, he tightens his grip on him and pulls him with him; Auston feels warmth tingling in his stomach, spreading through his whole body—a warmth that has nothing to do with arousal. That he hasn’t felt for anyone that wasn’t family in a very long time. 

Maybe never. 

Affection. Tenderness. ~~Love~~. 

In the darkness and under the hot water of the shower Mitch’s body is soft and pliant; pressed against Auston’s chest he almost clings to him, arms around Auston’s waist, cheek upon Auston’s collarbone. His skin feels incredibly smooth under Auston’s touches, like the most exquisite fabric and he knows he never wants to stop touching him. So he takes his time washing Mitch’s hair, combing his fingers through the dark, wet strands that slide through his fingers almost like silk. Takes his time lathering up his shoulders and stomach, all his gangly limbs, sliding his hands over all the bony curves and edges, the dip between his hips, the long lines of his thighs and the sensual arch of his spine, the tempting firm curve of his ass until Mitch is sighing—purring almost with his face upturned so that he can look into Auston’s eyes with heavy lids and fluttering lashes. 

It's arousing—because it's Mitch and because he is beautiful to Auston all the time. 

(For a second Auston wishes he could hoist Mitch up and wind his legs around his waist and fuck him, right here, right now until the water turns cold and all the affection, tenderness ~~and love~~ disappears under the usual and familiar desire.) 

When they finally step out and Auston drapes the towel around him Mitch smells heavenly; clean and fresh of forest shower gel and his skin. But he tastes even better when he goes onto his tippy toes and leans his head back, silently waiting for Auston’s mouth in the orange twilight. Lips sliding, locking. Licking. 

Mitch is so open, so real. And Auston feels closer to him than ever. 

(It’s been days, weeks, ages since he had Mitch like this.)

Mitch’s feelings and trust for him are the reason he doesn’t allow the kiss to turn into more—as tempting as it is. But they are a gift and Auston is not about to waste it, waste the preciousness of this moment when Mitch falls back onto his feet and allows him to carefully rub him dry with the soft terry cloth, pressing fond kisses onto his shoulders, kneecaps, lower belly, tailbone whenever he has finished taking care of that part of his body. 

Then he leads him into the walk-in closet and pulls out shirts, sweatpants and warm hoodies for both of them. He gets them out of the drawer Mitch keeps Auston’s spare clothes in, not because he likes to see Mitch in his clothes, but because he knows that Mitch loves them, and has started to wear them when he was injured. It became a habit and Auston isn’t strong enough to not find it adorable, to not feel something red and hot and fierce in his chest. 

“When was the last time you ate?” 

Mitch shrugs. 

“Last night? Before the game?”

Auston closes his eyes. He has suspected it, but it’s different to actually hear it confirmed. It’s almost the end of the season and Mitch has been fighting to keep his weight since Christmas. 

“I brought some soup and pupusas. How about I heat them up for you?” 

“I have to walk Zeus first… I—I’ve treated him so badly.” 

Mitch has started to bite his lower lip and it's bleeding again. He looks guilty and ashamed as he probably replays the whole day that Zeus stayed in bed with him, glued to his side, comforting and protecting him the only way he knew; ignoring all of his own physical needs until he couldn’t anymore. 

“It’s okay, he wanted to help you. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” 

“It’s really not.” Mitch shakes his head so furiously that his hair is flying in all directions, droplets hitting Auston’s face. “I should have pulled myself together.”

“Sometimes—” But Auston doesn’t know what he wanted to say, so he just brushes his thumbs over Mitch’s cheeks. “Sometimes you have to look after yourself first—especially when your boyfriend is stupid and not there for you.”

-

This is how Auston finds himself in Mitch’s kitchen, heating up his mama’s food on the stove while Mitch walks Zeus. 

_‘Half an hour, not a minute longer. I’m not kidding.’_

He looks better when he returns almost exactly half an hour later, with cheeks blushed from the cold wind, bright eyes, and the hint of a smile. Strands of hair fall around his face, messy and still wet as he pulls off his beanie and steps over to Auston while Zeus noisily gulps down the food Auston has put into his bowl. 

“Met anyone?” 

_‘Did someone say anything?’_ is more what Auston wants to ask, but Mitch gets it—just like Auston got him before. 

“It’s past 1a.m., not many people in the dog park around this time.” Mitch takes a spoon and stirs the soup. “Why didn’t you just microwave it?” 

“You don’t microwave my mama’s soup. She’d take me out of her will if I did.”

“But it’s faster and I’m hungry.” Mitch’s body falls against him, his chin digging into Auston’s shoulder. “It’s not like she’d know.” 

Auston laughs at the little whine in his voice. Mitch’s impatience about almost everything could be annoying, except that it’s mostly cute—and a startling contrast to the way he sets up plays on the ice, waiting a whole game for the right moment, always trying and never giving up, almost never losing his temper no matter how futile all his previous attempts have been in finding a hole in the defense to connect one of his brilliant passes with Auston’s stick. 

“Trust me, she would. Besides, microwaving is basically radiation and it kills the vitamins of the food. I mean, I know you don’t care about nutrition, but it also kills the taste, and you definitely wanna taste this.” 

Now it’s Mitch’s turn to laugh, probably at Auston’s lecturing tone, or the serious expression on his face. Not that he minds; seeing and hearing Mitch laugh wholeheartedly is more heartwarming than even his mama’s food and he turns around to pull him closer, enjoying Mitch’s body melting against his before stealing a kiss or two. 

He would be happy to continue kissing like this; under the soft warm light of the hood above the stove in the otherwise dark apartment, the only sounds coming from the soup bubbling in the pot and Zeus lapping water from his bowl—of Mitch breathing against his face and sighing into his mouth… the wet slide of their lips and tongues. 

But then the rumbling of Mitch’s stomach interrupts them suddenly and insistently and they both break apart, chuckling and grinning. 

They eat in the seating area, or Mitch does, because Auston’s trainer would kill him if he had beef-filled gorditas and tortilla soup with a one-inch layer of nachos and cheddar cheese in the middle of the night. Watching Mitch devour them with pleased moans and pure delight on his face is enough for him though. Sharing a couple of bites and kissing the taste out of his mouth while Mitch is sitting on his lap is even better. 

Yet everything pales against the feeling of Mitch snuggling into his body after and burying his face against Auston’s neck, as if he’s seeking protection, pulling Auston’s arms around him as if he wants to disappear, dissolve.

Auston’s heartbeat is suddenly so loud, so mighty that he can’t hear anything else. His chest feels tight, so full that he’s afraid he could burst because Mitch is everywhere inside him. In every vein, in every cell: dark and warm and red, sunset orange and forest green when he closes his eyes for a second because it’s ~~almost~~ too much. Too overwhelming. Until it’s not. 

Until he realizes that this is how it’s supposed to be. That this is what he has been missing. 

It’s pure instinct when tightens his grip on Mitch, spreads his legs to allow closer contact before winding them around Mitch before he rolls them over so that Mitch is between the back of the couch and Auston can shield him from the rest of the world. Can almost climb over him as he did before. Always watching Mitch’s face, looking out of any signs of discomfort but finding nothing but relief. 

(Auston isn’t that much bigger than Mitch although it often feels as if he is. But he has almost 40 pounds on him and even as physical as Mitch is it could be overwhelming.) 

“Thank you,” Mitch mumbles against his skin.

It sounds so wounded, so small, so unlike Mitch that Auston has to swallow, that he thinks his heart breaks ~~again~~. 

Mitch thrives with attention, with affection. He’s used to it, soaks it up and takes it for granted most of the time. Hearing him thanking Auston for something that is natural, that Auston wants to give, needs to give… It's just wrong. 

“Mitch… You don’t—”

“But I wanted to.” 

“I should’ve never let you go home alone.”

It’s even more wrong because Auston can’t shake off the feeling of guilt. Of shame. 

“I’m not a child... I mean, I’m aware I act like one. But I’m really not.” He laughs drily. “Just have to get used to it, get used to some criticism and suck it up.” 

Auston’s hands dug into Mitch’s upper arms; he can’t help it, can’t loosen his grip even though he can see that he’s hurting him. He’s furious and he wants to shake Mitch, wants to shake sense into him. 

“They’re all wrong and they don’t deserve you.” 

It just makes Mitch laugh harder; cold and sharp as glass. Merciless. 

“I’m terrible. We both know it.”

“Your _‘terrible’_ is good enough to make other players jealous.” It’s not a lie, and they both know it. “Not to mention that I know that this little slump will be over in one or two games. This city… the media and the fans... their expectations are unreal. Remember when you told me this on the very first day?”

He can see right away on Mitch’s face that this was the wrong thing to say. Mitch’s expression just goes blank for a second, and then defiant. Can feel that Mitch’s body against his tenses and grows cold. 

“Yeah I do, but you know the saying _‘with great money comes great responsibility’_?” 

“I think I remember that quote differently.” 

“I asked for this, Auston. I _wanted_ it. And I’m a failure; a disappointment. To my club, my city… my team.”

Auston has no words to express how _wrong_ Mitch is, no words to cheer him up. To help him and make him believe it, so he does the only thing he can think about—does it without even thinking at all; it’s pure instinct alone.

Because when it comes to Mitch everything is pure intuition, everything is pure. 

He sits up and reaches for the seam of Mitch’s hoodie, slides it upward until Mitch lifts his arms automatically. There’s confusion in Mitch’s eyes but he only shivers when Auston pulls it over his head, and then even more bewilderment when Auston starts to work on the string tie of Mitch’s sweatpants so that he can hook his fingers around the waistband and drag them over Mitch’s bony hips and then down while Mitch just wiggles and allows himself to be manhandled until he’s naked underneath Auston. 

He looks gorgeous, pale and wide-eyed and lost as he blinks up at Auston undressing until he’s just as naked, just as pure as Mitch. Goosebumps are dotting both their skin, shivers are raining over their bodies when Auston carefully positions himself again over Mitch, bracketing him underneath his bigger and warmer frame. 

No one of them speaks, no one even breathes. Mitch’s heart beats madly like a caged bird, like a rabbit on flight. 

There are a million questions in Mitch’s eyes; they are so wide and dark that Auston feels caught in them, trapped; that everything disappears. 

“Aus… What—?”

“I want you to close your eyes and only listen." Auston's voice is shaky, almost breathless."I want you to forget." 

Finally Mitch nods; closes his eyes and relaxes slightly. 

“I want you to forget everything that isn’t us, okay? Forget that stupid maple leaf on your pants and hoodie. Forget the damn press, because they have no idea what they’re talking or writing about. Because they’re only doing their job in the ugliest way, because they don’t know how strong you are and what you’re able to do. Forget this stupid city, because they have no right to ask that much from you—no one has. And forget everyone who isn’t in the locker room with you every day. Forget even them, because they’re not here right now and they don't know how you feel right now. Can you do that for me?"

Auston waits patiently, watches Mitch’s eyes flicker under his closed lids until he finally nods, hesitant and small. He knows Mitch is probably surprised; Auston isn’t that much of a talker—and even less when it comes to topics like this. 

“It’s just us. Nothing… nothing else is important. We’re not Mitch Marner or Auston Matthews, we’re just… just two guys who love to play hockey and who happen to play amazing together. But not even that’s important. It’s just what we do—not what we are. Least not when it counts, not what defines us.” Framing Mitch’s face with his hands Auston softly lowers his head and brushes his nose against Mitch’s, chuckling quietly when he can see it twitch as if Mitch is about to sneeze.

“To me, you’re just Mitch, who has the softest skin and cutest freckles, who loves to cuddle all the fucking time and who talks constantly about everything to the point where I almost wished you came with a mute button, only that I don’t… because it’s you and I love it. You’re just Mitch, who is kind and patient to everyone except to himself, who is never ashamed about anything and radiates so much joy that I can’t look away.” Auston has to stop for a second, has to lick his lips because his mouth is dry. He can’t remember having talked so much for ages. But it’s worth it because Mitch has started to melt underneath him, completely calm now and breathing evenly. 

“This is what counts. To me. And maybe this will only last until tomorrow, or until the day after and then we’ll have to leave this bubble… but we can always return to, you can always return to me and be safe. Because I can’t imagine that the way I see you, the way you amaze me won’t ever change.” 

Maybe it’s a good thing that Mitch kept his eyes closed: Auston feels so vulnerable right now, as naked as he literally is. But unlike Mitch, he's not as good with his emotions. Not open like him. 

Maybe that's the reason he had to say it just like Mitch had to hear it. 

Because when Mitch lifts a hand now and brings it around his face it trembles. 

“Can I open my eyes?” 

Maybe that’s the reason Mitch asks him and waits for his answer, gives Auston time to brace himself—time he doesn’t need and want. 

The impact Mitch’s eyes have on him… everything he can see in them, nothing hidden. It’s still breathtaking. Even tired and in the low light from the kitchen, they are so blue and so filled with wonder and tenderness. They look as if Mitch can’t believe it, as if Mitch has to make sure that it’s really Auston. That’s how he follows the lines of Auston’s face with his fingers, how he brushes the strands of hair away and traces the shape of his brows, nose and lower lip.

Until finally, a slow and small smile appears, disbelieving and tender and beautiful—a smile Auston has never seen directed at him. 

“I had to look at you...I couldn’t—” 

Mitch never explains his words and Auston will probably never learn of the ending of that sentence. 

But it’s not important, because he would rather have the image of himself in Mitch’s eyes; his feelings. 

Because he never feels stronger, more worthy or more special. 

-

They don’t get dressed again and they don’t leave the couch to go to the bedroom. Auston simply drags two of the woolen blankets over them that would have felt precious and soft against his naked body if he had never touched Mitch’s skin. Then, he lets Mitch arrange their limbs to his liking; with Auston draped more or less over him while he is tugged in the small space between Auston and the backrest of the couch. 

To everyone else, this position would probably feel suffocating and oppressing, but Mitch has no concept of personal space. He needs physical contact and affection like a flower needs the sun and Auston has stopped minding it. Instead, he has started loving giving Mitch everything he needs. 

He places his head against Mitch’s chest and listens to the strong and steady heartbeat while Mitch’s fingers comb through his hair. 

He can’t remember drifting off, can’t distinguish when reality faded into a dream. Can’t be sure if Mitch’s words were real or just his imagination. 

_‘To me, you’re just Auston, who’s so strong and warm, and has the most beautiful eyes. Who’s the one I always look for when I enter a room—like the sun. Who’s bad at video games and doesn’t even get frustrated about it. Who tolerates all my annoying flaws and little quirks. Who’s grumpy in the morning and after losses, but never at me. Who has so much love and affection to give and the kindest heart. Who tries to hide it most of the time as if he’s afraid others would think he’s weak but it’s always there and everyone can see it. Who means so much to me that his smile alone makes me feel safe, happy and whole.’_

-

They both are aware that they have to leave their little bubble of time Auston has created for them. They have to get dressed and leave the apartment, face their teammates, coaches, and the pressure and demands—no matter how oppressive and unreal they are. 

But just for one more day, they can pretend.

Auston can step closer and distract Mitch when his thoughts are drifting away. He can touch when his smile vanishes. He can kiss him and take away his breath until Mitch relaxes and falls against him. 

It’s not much, but it’s all they have. 

-

Thanks for reading ♥

**Author's Note:**

> [ **tumblr** ](https://miss-malheur.tumblr.com/)


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